


Just Give Me a Reason

by BlackandBlueMagpie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: And anxiety, F/M, Fights, Gen, General angsty warning, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Multi, Transphobia mention, break ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 07:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandBlueMagpie/pseuds/BlackandBlueMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been four years since Enjolras left for America, leaving Grantaire, and their relationship, far behind. The years between have been mainly a blur of late nights, even later mornings and snippets of memory. But now Grantaire’s happy, it’s been a year since he and Jehan started going out and, to be honest, neither apartment is really their own anymore. Then Enjolras shows up again, and everything that was left unresolved comes back to the surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sun's Rising on Him

The steady rising tune of his alarm doesn’t cut into his dream, it merges with it, sinking slowly into consciousness until the harsh beeping that tells you you’ve been ignoring it for too long.  
Jehan blinks awake, batting around for his phone all the while in Grantaire’s (Their? It’s been too long to be singular surely) bed, sun streaming through worn out curtains.  
Grantaire groans quietly as Jehan shifts away from him, pulling him back like an octopus.  
“I have to go.”  
“No you don’t.”  
“I have work.” Jehan laughs, trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Grantaire presses a kiss to the point between his shoulder and his neck.  
“Call in sick, come on. Spend the day with me, I’ll treat you to lunch.”  
“Unlike you some of us actually enjoy our jobs.” He extracts himself from Grantaire’s arms, before placing a kiss on his hand. “I really do have to go. But I’ll see you later right? For Courfeyrac’s birthday.”  
Grantaire sighs.  
“I’m working, but I’ll escape later.” Bartending is a secondary job, a remnant favour for a friend to fill in shifts here and there. It means free drinks though, sometimes interesting contraptions created out of sheer boredom on slow nights or ones from artistic adventure at late night university parties.  
“Well I’ll be there to keep you company ‘kay? But for now I need to earn this months’ rent.”  
~~~  
“Jehan.” Courfeyrac grins, his voice dripping languidly over his name. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.” Jehan rolls his eyes, stepping off the last step and into the offered hug.  
“We ran over, and I needed to shower and eat and all that. Basically I had nothing to do but it’s all happened in the last hour or so. Everyone else here?”  
“Near enough,” Courfeyrac shifts so his arm’s only draped around Jehan’s shoulder leaning in in that friendly way he does. “Just waiting for Grantaire to get off bar duty, though he’s already sneaked in a couple of drinks… Oh! And my old school friend’s back in town, and he’ll be in soon.”  
“Anyone I’ve heard of?” Jehan’s not really paying attention, rather searching for Grantaire through the crowds. He’s stuck making cocktails for a group of girls on a hen-night, all leaning flirtily against the bar. Courfeyrac’s a little hesitant as he answers.  
“Uh, Enjolras?” Jehan freezes for a moment.  
“The Enjolras?” He asks carefully. Courfeyrac doesn’t answer, chewing his lip as he stares off toward the bar. “Have you told Grantaire?”  
“I didn’t know how… But it’s been years and he has you now-“  
“Courfeyrac! You knew him through all that, you know how badly it affected him.”  
“I know. But I’ve not seen him since all that either Jehan, and he’s one of my best friends.” Jehan sighs uncomfortably, following Courfeyrac’s gaze to Grantaire as he pours pints. He thinks it through for a moment, weighing up how much this means for the two men.  
“I’ll go talk to him.” Courfeyrac relaxes against him, kissing him on the cheek.  
“Thank you, so much. I’m going to go find ‘Ferre.” Jehan nods, watching Courfeyrac weave his way through the crowd. He begins trying to wind his way toward the bar, he never was good at this, a little too on the short side to be comfortable amongst the throng of elbows and glasses. Maybe that’s why he’s always dated guys a good head taller than him.  
When he reaches the bar, worming his way between two groups of friends, he curses Courfeyrac’s choice of bar. The bar is a square in the centre of the room, meaning it’s surrounded by anyone and everyone, but also that the bar staff rotate as and when drinks are needed. He can just about see Grantaire’s mop of dark hair, just on the other side of the shelves and measures, a long way off from where he was at the beginning of Jehan’s journey.  
A hand claps him on the back, sending him knocking his ribs into the edge of the bar, he winces, rubbing at his chest as he turns.  
“You look like you need a drink.” Bahorel grins that wide bright grin that always made things better. “Can’t get anyone’s attention?” He holds out his own glass.  
“Something like that…” Jehan takes the glass from him, still watching over his shoulder, and takes a sip. The taste hits him, coating the inside of his mouth, and he pulls a face, curling his tongue as he pushes the glass back at his friend. “Ugh… What the hell is that?”  
“Whiskey and coke.”  
“It tastes like cigarette ash.” Bahorel looks personally offended at the comment, cradling the glass like a small animal.  
“You just have no taste.”  
“It’s a bit light for you isn’t?” Jehan smacks his lips together a few times to try and finally dispel the taste, it doesn’t work.  
“It’s Feuilly’s day off tomorrow, so I’m driving. Guy deserves some time to unwind, God knows he won’t but the thought’s there.” He sips his drink thoughtfully. “So what’s up chickadee?” Jehan sighs, twisting his lips into a pout.  
“I don’t know…” Bahorel slings an arm around him, it’s heavy across his shoulder but it’s a familiar weight, and he smiles a little as Bahorel pulls him into his side.  
“Come on chick, you can talk to Bahorel.” The nickname draws an involuntary eye roll.  
“Will Bahorel continue using the third person?”  
“He’ll stop if you talk.” Bahorel grins down at him, wide enough to see his missing molar. Jehan remembers the bar fight, Bahorel grinning through blood as Feuilly shook his head and told him to ‘just sit down already and stop showing off’.  
“Enjolras is coming here.” Bahorel’s smile fades with a small ‘huh.’ “It means a lot to Courfeyrac so I said I’d warn Grantaire but… Well I’m worried about how he’ll react. Well you knew him then…”  
“It’s not a place you want him to return to.”  
“Mmm…” Jehan glances over to where Grantaire’s serving drinks.  
“Chin up, he’s got you to go home to. Hey Grantaire!” He suddenly shouts before Jehan can reply, booming across the bar and making the people next to them jump. There’s a muttering from an older man. “Get over here arsehole!” Grantaire shuts the till drawer with a flourish and strolls over, grinning lopsidedly.  
“Nice to see you too ya bastard.”  
“Your poor boyfriend is absolutely gasping, talk about bad service.” Bahorel’s grin is back and Grantaire seems surprised to see Jehan tucked in against the bar.  
“Hey…” His smile softens, and he leans across to give him a kiss on the lips. “I’m almost finished, what do you fancy?”  
“I’m honestly alright, it was just Bahorel messing around.” Jehan’s keen not to waste time.  
“Nonsense, I’ll get your favourite.” Grantaire tells him, and right now his love of treating and looking after him is infuriating. He vanishes quickly along the bar, stopping to cheekily apologise to the disappointed looking hen party. Bahorel gives him a sympathetic shrug, clapping him on the shoulder before he goes in search of Feuilly. Jehan leans his chin on his hands with a sigh, waiting for Grantaire to return.  
“There we go.” Grantaire places the glass in front of him with a bow. “Just the way you like it.”  
“Thanks.” Jehan smiles briefly. “Hey Grantaire, can I talk to you for a minute?”  
“’Course.” Grantaire’s rightfully confused as he leans against the bar.  
“Listen, uh… Courfeyrac was just talking to me and, well it’s his birthday so I said I’d talk to you first but he’s invited someone, and we can leave if you want to but it’s-“

“Enjolras…” Grantaire breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Lyric's from Dido's Mary's in India


	2. Why I'm no Longer Able to Feel My Heart Beating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan’s frowning at him. The sounds around him are dull and echoey, far different from the usual bustle. And all he can see is Enjolras, and he looks so casual and Grantaire’s sure the crowd is actually parting around him. He hasn’t changed at all, he’s still tall and blond and he’s practically glowing. But at the same time he’s changed entirely, he’s not the same person that left years ago. He can never be that person again.

Jehan’s frowning at him. The sounds around him are dull and echoey, far different from the usual bustle. And all he can see is Enjolras, and he looks so casual and Grantaire’s sure the crowd is actually parting around him. He hasn’t changed at all, he’s still tall and blond and he’s practically glowing. But at the same time he’s changed entirely, he’s not the same person that left years ago. He can never be that person again.  
And suddenly he’s there, and his forehead is creasing in that way it does when he hits an unexpected hurdle, confused, already planning, not quite annoyed.  
“Grantaire. I didn’t think you’d still be working bar jobs.”  
“It’s a favour.” His voice is flat.  
“Oh, well I’ll have-“  
“I remember.” Surprise flickers across Enjolras’s face.  
“Oh.” Grantaire turns quickly to the counter behind him, staring at the glass in his hand. He can’t quite breathe, his chest straining with the effort of each breath. He digs in the ice bucket, jabbing at it a little too hard. A hand suddenly claps him on the shoulder, and he empties far too much ice into the glass.  
“Hey it’s 10, shifts over buddy.”  
“Yeah, sure. Just… Let me finish this up and I’ll be out of your hair.”  
“Yeah right, you’ll just hassle us with all your fancy cocktail ideas.” Luc laughs, Grantaire nods along half-heartedly as the blue haired man heads for a customer. He presses the glass to the optic with hands that won’t stop shaking – stop it, stop it.  
Jehan and Enjolras are chatting about some philosopher when he makes his way back through the crowd to them. Jehan glances up as he approaches, shooting him a sympathetic half smile. It briefly crosses his mind that he should have brought himself a strong drink to get him through this.  
“Here.” He’s careful to avoid shoving the glass into Enjolras’s hands, before retreating back to Jehan’s side. “It’s on the house.”  
“Oh… That’s nice of you.”  
“Well, consider it a welcome home.”  
“Thank you.” Jehan leans into him a little, pressing against his side in a reassuring manner.  
“Enjolras was just telling me about America.” Courfeyrac breaks in after a short, awkward silence. He looks most awkward out of all of them, if that was possible, shoulders hunched in that way they do when he feels like he needs to change the mood – which is more often than one might expect given Courfeyrac’s light hearted nature, but he tends to feel responsible for the general happiness of everyone around him, even if he doesn’t know them. Coincidentally that’s how they met, how they got into this whole mess in the first place.  
Enjolras is talking, about his course or how great life was out there without Grantaire. He’s not really, of course he’s not because he wouldn’t gloat like that but he might as well be right now and he’s so bitter to think that, and for a moment he wonders if that’s what he’s become now. Despite Jehan and all his friends he’s become this bitter, cynical man who can’t get past this.  
Jehan glances up at him, taking in his expression with a concerned one of his own. His hand is cold from the glass, ad for a moment he looks like he’s about to ask if Grantaire wants to leave, but before he can open his mouth he’s interrupted by the arrival of Joly and Bossuet.  
Joly’s always smiling until he’s not. That’s how Grantaire describes one of his oldest friends. When he told Jehan Jehan pointed out that that was rather obvious. But being around Joly you soon realise how true the phrase is. It takes a lot for Joly not to smile, even when he’s uncomfortable or sad he still manages wry grins and half smiles.  
He’s smiling now, as he welcomes Enjolras back, but he’s anxious. Grantaire can see it easily now, after years of friendship, in the way he pushes Bossuet over – at first it looks like it’s just so Bossuet doesn’t have to weave his way through the crowds, but even now his hands never fully leave the handles, even as he greets Enjolras.  
Bossuet, equally, rarely frowns. He’s the expert in not letting things get him down, which you would think would make him annoyingly chipper but is instead infectious. Grantaire sometimes thinks it explains why Joly can’t stop smiling, though it might also have something to do with the ‘absolutely ridiculous’ (Joly’s words) crush Joly has on him. It’s an understandable crush, Bossuet is handsome, and he’s the perfect counter balance for Joly, apart from the fact that Joly has a long term girlfriend he’s so completely smitten with that he still blushes whenever they touch.  
Enjolras is still smiling, restarting his tales and Grantaire takes a deep breath, looking anywhere but him because he looks so happy and like he’s never been gone and-  
“I don’t feel well.” Jehan says suddenly, leaning further into Grantaire. To his credit, assuming it’s a ruse, he does look pale, squeezing his eyes shut against the noise around them. Courfeyrac glances around.  
“Are you okay?”  
“I just- I need some air.” Jehan’s fingers roughly trace over his face. “I’m really sorry-“  
“Nonsense, we don’t want you fainting off on us or something. Do you want a hand? Bossuet’ll wheel you I’m sure.” Bossuet raises an eyebrow at the suggestion but Jehan shakes his head.  
“I’ll honestly be okay, I’ve just come over a bit funny, tell Bahorel never to give me his drinks again would you?”  
“I’ll be sure to.” Courfeyrac gives him a quick hug and Jehan makes a promise to make up the birthday celebrations another time. Then he re-joins Grantaire, wrapping his arm around his waist so they can head off.  
“Hey are you-“  
“I’m sorry.” Jehan breaks in, still talking slightly louder than needed as his hearing recovers. “I shouldn’t have taken over like that but I had to get you out of there. I’ve never seen you look like that Grantaire, never. You were just… I thought you’d be too stubborn to leave yourself…”  
“It’s alright… I probably would have stayed if not and- I shouldn’t have.” Jehan gives him a small smile. “You know me too well.”  
“I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to.” He gives their surroundings a small glance. “Where do you want to head to?”  
“Yours? You must be running out of clothes by now.” It’s an excuse and they both know it but Jehan leans up to kiss him softly in reply and steers him down the right path.

Jehan and his flats are so, so different but yet so completely similar it’s worrying.  
Jehan’s flat is light and airy, hung with various postcards, origami animals and old film posters. His sofa is patchwork, his living room lined with shelves. He has a 1x3 foot balcony that he somehow manages to grow tomatoes in a bag on and which contains at least 3 potted trees. It always smells of sweet herbs, from the numerous window boxes around its fencing. He always sends Grantaire off for sage or some such and Grantaire always gets it wrong. His windows are dressed similarly, all with overflowing flowers that drip over the edges.  
Grantaire’s, by contrast, is smaller, darker, littered with old unfinished paintings and furniture procured mainly from flea markets. His sofa is a particular favourite, deep green velvet, lumpy, with a couple of springs missing and, really, it’s more chaise than couch but he loves it all the same. Nothing matches, even mugs or plates he was given as sets have now lost their partners and sit on their own in cupboards. It never feels permanent, even though he’s lived there since before Uni. Maybe because he never expected to be living here more than a year or two, but instead it became a comfortable kind of purgatory.  
Yet their flats are similar, their living styles close enough to be comfortable, to make the other’s place feel like home.  
Both flats hold the evidence of creative fervour, in scattered pages and hastily stacked notebooks, in splattered paint and discarded sketchpads under cushions and furniture. There’s an abundance of books, not entirely on subjects either of them specialise in, scattered here and there in stacks and shelves. Furniture and crockery is eclectic, if not better matched in Jehan’s.  
As he kicks off his shoes in the little, warmly lit flat he already feels like he’s at home. Jehan’s offering him tea, from the far too vast range in his cupboard – Everytime they go out they have to go in the little tea shop that sells loose leaf in various sized tins with typewriter writing and filigree curls, and without fail Jehan will find some new exotic tea flavoured with chocolate and pepper and just have to try it.  
“Just plain black please.”  
“Are you sure? I have this wonderful new Vanilla Chai.”  
“Sounds sweet, like you.” Grantaire grins and Jehan sticks his tongue out. Grantaire’s not sure how he’s managed, with his complete lack of sweet tooth and aversion to most deserts, to end up with almost solely people who adore sugar. They settle on the sofa, with teas cupped in their free hands.  
“I should have told you before. I was as surprised as you that he was coming back, but Courfeyrac’s hard to say no to when he has those puppy dog eyes on.” Jehan says after a space filled by traffic and the late night news.  
“I’m amazed Marius managed to move out.” Grantaire smiles. “But really, I’m okay, stop blaming yourself. You know, maybe this is a good thing. Maybe we can resolve the issues and move on.” Jehan still doesn’t look up, but he nods to himself. “Jehan I love you, nothing’s going to change that. It’s us now, that’s it, not me and him. That was years ago.”  
“I know.” Jehan smiles warmly at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from Shania Twain's Nah!  
> Because why not?


	3. I Will Take the Chain from off the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His phone vibrates in his bag, against his keys, which makes it ten times louder than its already above average setting. It’s a worn out old thing, clunky, with a speaker that doesn’t always work. He’s had the flip phone since his last year of school, it was his first, and still can’t bear to part with it after this many years, despite all of Courfeyrac’s protests.  
>  He hurriedly fishes it out, flipping it open. It’s not a number he recognises, but the texting style is so familiar he has to pause and check the date.  
>  ‘I don’t know if you actually still have this number but I would think you fond of that old phone. I basically have no idea of your hours but I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch?’

His phone vibrates in his bag, against his keys, which makes it ten times louder than its already above average setting. It’s a worn out old thing, clunky, with a speaker that doesn’t always work. He’s had the flip phone since his last year of school, it was his first, and still can’t bear to part with it after this many years, despite all of Courfeyrac’s protests.  
He hurriedly fishes it out, flipping it open. It’s not a number he recognises, but the texting style is so familiar he has to pause and check the date.  
‘I don’t know if you actually still have this number but I would think you fond of that old phone. I basically have no idea of your hours but I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch?’  
Grantaire frowns at the screen, studies it for signs of a trick, or indeed that he has woken up four years ago. He’s not sure what to make of the offer, or what Enjolras is expecting from it, but after an hour or so of contemplation curiosity gets the better of him.  
‘Finish at 12.30. Meet me?’

“Did you meet anyone over there?” Grantaire asks, staring down at his coffee. Enjolras glances up from where’s he’s methodically stirring sugar into his own – sugar, stir, test, grimace, sugar, stir; it’s a practice that’s sometimes endearing but now it’s annoying him – seeming surprised by the question, though something flickers in his eyes.  
“No. I didn’t.” He says eventually, finally settling with his coffee between his hands. “Evidently you did.”  
“I did. Jehan’s great. He’s so, so wonderful. He makes me happy.” He’s making too much of a point of how perfect everything is, Enjolras quirks an eyebrow.  
“Well, that’s great. I’m glad you’ve found someone like that.” Grantaire nods, bringing his mug to his lips but not actually taking a sip. “I didn’t think you’d still be in a bar job.”  
“Favour, for a friend.”  
“Anyone I’d know?”  
“She’s from Uni, so no. You wouldn’t.” Enjolras nods. “She’s nice, her brother gets dumped on her sometimes if she can’t get someone so I said I’d fill in if need be. He’s a good kid, scary but he’s alright really.”  
Conversation, when it passes between them, is as awkward as expected. Short questions, even shorter answers, neither of them knowing what it’s right to ask or divulge. Grantaire leaves having gained nothing from the experience other than a vague sense of impending unease. 

~~~

Combeferre glances up at the sound outside his door, he can feel Lise shift at his feet, standing to attention.  
“Come on then girl.” Combeferre murmurs, running a hand over the top of her ears. He knows his way around the apartment just fine, but she’s pleasant company to have when faced with door to door salesmen.  
“Hi.”  
“You picked up the accent.” Combeferre grins, and Enjolras laughs, moving in to hug him.  
“Your hearing’s going too.”  
“Come in, regardless of the state of my hearing. Drink?”  
“I’m alright, I just had coffee. With Grantaire actually.”  
“Oh?” Combeferre looks round as he settles himself on the sofa, it creaks.  
“He wasn’t the most pleased, but I can’t blame him.” His voice is pouty nonetheless. “He and Jehan are doing well by the sounds of it.”  
“They’re very good together.” Lise settles on his feet, it’s her favoured position, and he enjoys the close company despite the fact that his feet quickly go to sleep.  
“Ada’s not… Around?” Enjolras asks carefully, the sofa shifts and Lise’s tail begins banging against it as he strokes her.  
“Retired, she went to live with my parents.” Combeferre smiles fondly at the memory of his first guide dog, who he all but grew up with. Lise is much more attentive than her more independent Aunt, following him around, almost literally, like a lost puppy. “It’s good to have you back.”  
“I’m not sure who else thinks so, no one looked best pleased when I appeared.”  
“You did suddenly appear. Only Courfeyrac and I knew that you were returning at all. It’s a bit like a ghost coming back.”  
“You think I’m back from the dead?” Enjolras asks.  
“No, we’ve talked too much for that. But four years is a long time to not see someone. Especially after what happened.”  
“They blame me.” Enjolras says flatly.  
“I know you don’t always understand things like this, but people weren’t happy after you left.”  
“Breaking up is a normal part of relationships!” Enjolras protests.  
“It’s not that you broke up, it’s the way you did it.” Combeferre tells him, it’s harsher than he meant it to be, but Enjolras needs to understand this. “You left him out of the blue, for seemingly no reason at all.”  
“I couldn’t do that… The long distance. It wasn’t because I didn’t love him.”  
“But you didn’t tell him that.” His voice is gentler now, soothing the distress he can feel coming off Enjolras in tight waves, tense in the seat next to him. “All he saw was someone who wasn’t willing to try.” Lise’s tail begins thumping against the sofa again, but Enjolras’s movements are agitated.  
“You think I should? Tell him, I mean.”  
“He’s got Jehan now, it would only make things worse.”  
“You sound like Phoebe in that Friends episode.” Enjolras mutters, and Combeferre blinks in surprise. It had been a thing for the three of them when they were younger, mainly because of Courfeyrac’s persuasion rather than any genuine interest. Enjolras had complained every time, so he’d never expected him to have actually paid attention.  
“Someone has to be the level headed one.” 

He and Enjolras chat, they’ve talked every other day since Enjolras left but it’s not the same as having him there, real and in the flesh, his presence beside him ever changing.  
They talk about things they’d never think of talking about via expensive phone calls, meaningless reminiscing.  
Enjolras mentions their first meeting, when he and Courfeyrac had set their about becoming his friends – they already knew each other through their parents. Courfeyrac had been excitable, Enjolras more reserved around strangers but he’d soon relaxed and became even more determined than Courfeyrac to please. He always over empathised, and yet many a time was unable to understand the situation.  
‘And this,” He tells Combeferre, as they stretch up to reach the book shelf. “Is tall!’  
Combeferre smiles at the time Courfeyrac had first cut his hair short, being only 6 at the time, and how proud he’d been with the short, unruly curls. His mother, had not been so happy, scolding him as she took him home again. The second dramatic cut had been more successful, and certainly more professional. An undercut crowned with soft curls he’d then decided to dye purple at the tips – ‘so Mum can’t complain that it’s not feminine enough’. Enjolras decided to grow out his hair at the same time, in a show of support.  
“He grew it out.” Enjolras comments.  
“He figured it wouldn’t be that ‘professional’.” Combeferre shrugs. “But he was thinking of going dark green next time.”  
Enjolras is first to bring up when Grantaire joined their group, aged sixteen in art class. Courfeyrac had spotted him a while earlier, though he’d always been in their classes.  
‘He’s supposed to be good at art right? You reckon he’d draw my portrait?’  
‘Why can’t I do it?’ Enjolras protested.  
‘Because, Enjolras, no offence but you really suck at it.’  
Grantaire had joined them at lunch, first for portraits, then because he turned out to be pretty good for group projects and then because it just didn’t seem right without his voice.  
Then Enjolras had left.  
“It’s good to have you back.” Combeferre murmurs.  
Enjolras makes a small, non-committal noise in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title form Ingrid Michaelson's The Chain


	4. I Just Can't Stop Thinking of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Joly.” Musichetta’s voice comes from the small lounge area and he tries to focus on it, on the soft, rounded murmur and the way the J drags and rolls off her tongue. He tries desperately to focus on it when she repeats his name, soothingly. He tries so hard he misses her footsteps. “It’s okay.” He glances down to his hands, running his fingers between the bones of the other. They’re red, the knuckles raw and cracked, the water’s doing little to soothe them. “Grantaire isn’t your responsibility.”   
> “He’s my friend.”   
> “He has Jehan.” She reaches across to carefully turn off the tap, slowing the water first before it goes completely. Joly stares at his hands as if he’s unsure how to proceed.

**‘Are you Jehan..?’ The man asks carefully upon his approach, he’s tall, but stocky, with unruly dark hair and piercing icy eyes.**

**‘I am. Grantaire?’**

**‘Bahorel told me to look for floral and braids.’ Grantaire says as they shake hands, his are calloused against Jehan’s slim fingers, covered in paint while his bear the blue smudges of ink.**

**‘Well he’s in luck, I almost wore my plain jeans.’ They’re purple, but that’s beside the point. ‘He did neglect to tell me he was running late.’**

**‘I only got the text as I was coming in the door.’ Grantaire slides onto the sofa, edging past the coffee table. ‘You know what we’re actually here for, Bahorel was very secretive but I’m sure it’s nothing major.’**

**‘Feuilly’s birthday. You know him right?’**

**‘How’ve you not met?’ Grantaire laughs, it rumbles through him. ‘The guys are best friends.’**

**‘He’s always been busy.’ It comes out defensive, he doesn’t mean for it to and yet he feels a little threatened that this man has actually met Bahorel’s oldest and closest friend. Grantaire raises a cocky eyebrow.**

**‘Feuilly’s always busy. The guy works three jobs.’**

**‘Do you know if anyone else is coming?’ Jehan asks, diverting the attention away.**

**‘Not that I know of, they don’t share that many friends. Circles don’t match up, I’m one of the lucky ones. Feuilly’s a lovely guy.’ Grantaire interjects quickly. ‘He’s just a bit of a workaholic, doesn’t make friends easy.’**

**‘I did wonder why I was here.’**

**‘It’s important to Bahorel that he has a good time, but he’s not good at planning – as you probably know.’ Jehan nods with a small laugh. ‘I’ve heard you’re good at that.’**

**‘I like lists…’**

**‘Hey, I see you two have made a start.’ Bahorel booms later as he approaches the table. Jehan leans up to give him a kiss.**

**‘Someone had to, you were late.’**

**‘You couldn’t make small talk like normal people?’ He asks as he slides onto a seat and drapes his arm over Jehan’s chair.**

**‘You’re hardly talking to two normal people.’ Grantaire points out with a grin. ‘Besides, you’ve been gone so long we had time to do both.’**

**‘Well, look at you multi-tasking.” Bahorel teases. “What’ve we got?’**

 

~~~

 

“Joly.” Musichetta’s voice comes from the small lounge area and he tries to focus on it, on the soft, rounded murmur and the way the J drags and rolls off her tongue. He tries desperately to focus on it when she repeats his name, soothingly. He tries so hard he misses her footsteps. “It’s okay.” He glances down to his hands, running his fingers between the bones of the other. They’re red, the knuckles raw and cracked, the water’s doing little to soothe them. “Grantaire isn’t your responsibility.”

“He’s my friend.”

“He has Jehan.” She reaches across to carefully turn off the tap, slowing the water first before it goes completely. Joly stares at his hands as if he’s unsure how to proceed.

“But when it happened… I just can’t forget how many times L’Aigle had to call me to go get him home and look after him and… I feel like I should be helping him.”

“You are helping him.” She tells him firmly, then, after a pause. “Do you want me to call L’Aigle for you?”

He nods silently, and hates it. Hates the small look on her face that she knows she can’t solve this, can’t make this better like L’Aigle can. It’s not her fault, L’Aigle just knows exactly what to do and what to say. He always has, since they were teenagers, Musichetta’s just always been logical in her reassurance, which works for him sometimes but not when his hands are rubbed raw from washing and his stomach has twisted itself into an unrecognisable knot, constricting around his lungs and heart.

He meets L’Aigle in the reception, unable to stay in the apartment any longer. L’Aigle looks up at him with a reassuring smile.

“Are you okay to take the lift?” Joly nods, taking the handles of L’Aigle’s wheelchair. He doesn’t need pushing, but the cool plastic beneath his fingers grounds him, as the pattern embeds itself in his skin. “It’s okay to be worried.” L’Aigle tells him.

“Not to be this worried. No one else is- Shaking because of this.”

“People don’t react the same to things. Everyone’s different.”

“I don’t want to be different.” Joly mumbles shakily, and L’Aigle looks round to him.

“Then you wouldn’t be Joly. I like you the way you are, worries and all.” He grins, and Joly gives him a small smile in return. “You are an incredible person, you’re strong, I know you are. And I promise you’ll be alright.”

 

“You’re going to tell Musichetta how you feel.” L’Aigle says suddenly, a little while later while their siting watching some evening filler programme.

“What are you talking about?” His hands twitch again.

“Your feelings, toward me.” L’Aigle says plainly, and it’s infuriating because he thought he’d been hiding this.

“I really don’t know-“

“Joly. I know you’re anxious about Grantaire but I also know that’s not it. I’ve known you too long for that and you’re not exactly James Bond. You can’t keep your hands still now.”

“I shouldn’t.” Joly murmurs quietly. “I have a girlfriend. I love her! I really do… But then there’s you and I can’t help it I have these feelings and it doesn’t lessen how I feel about her and- It’s tearing me in two.” He rubs his knuckles, bumping his fingers along raw, cracked skin.

“Joly.” L’Aigle murmurs. “You really have to tell her, she’d hate you feeling that way.”

“She’d be heart broken.”

“Well, you never know. She might’ve fallen for my irresistible charms too.” L’Aigle grins, trying to lighten the mood. To be fair Joly does laugh, but it’s hoarse and shaky. “She’s a great girl.”

“I don’t want to lose her.”

“You won’t, if you’re honest with her.” Joly bites his lip as he stares at his hands, a sheen of anti-septic over them. Then he nods, slowly.

“You’re right. I can sort this out. I can.”

 

~~~

 

Courfeyrac hands him a mug of steaming hot chocolate, he can feel the steam curling around his face as he brings the rim tentatively to his lips.

“Anything interesting happening?” Combeferre glances around, a little surprised by the question. Courfeyrac usually knows exactly what’s going on with every single one of their friends at any given moment, God knows how. “Don’t frown I do worry about my friends.”

“I never thought you didn’t. I just thought you might know as much as I do.” Combeferre cups the mug carefully, shifting his fingers when the heat gets too much.

“I probably do, I just… I thought people might not want to talk about it. To me.” Combeferre does frown this time, brow furrowing.

“Why not?”

“I invited him here.” Courfeyrac says simply, but there’s a note of sadness in his tone that makes Combeferre shift closer so the other can rest his head against his shoulder, his hair tickling the skin of Combeferre’s neck.

“He was coming back anyway, it was an inevitable meeting.” Courfeyrac makes a small noise and shifts his shoulders against Combeferre’s ribs. “You want to know if Enjolras said anything?”

“He doesn’t deal with these situations well.” Courfeyrac murmurs, and Combeferre can just picture the last time they were all together, the night before Enjolras left, when he’d curled up close between them mumbling tearfully about not wanting to go. And how hard the first months had been, and all the phone calls at odd times because he just needed that familiarity. “He doesn’t… Deal with emotions well.”

“You’d know, Mr Psychologist.”

“I do psycho-analyse all our friends.” Combeferre glances round. “I don’t! Especially not intentionally.” He sighs. “Besides, it doesn’t take that much to notice.”

“Did you ever mention anything to his parents?”

“His mother threw enough of a fit when he grew his hair out. You think I was going to tell her her ‘perfect’ child might be on the autism spectrum?”

“Point taken. Enjolras?”

“I’ll have the conversation when he’s ready.” Courfeyrac sips his drink. “I… Booked myself in for top surgery.”

“That’s great!” Combeferre grins, giving him a squeeze.

“I’m not looking forward to telling Mum.” He admits.

“You’ve been on T for years now, she must know it’s not going to change.”

“Yeah, but… Actually having operations to confirm it means she can’t still think this is a phase I might magically grow out of.” He takes Combeferre’s hand, shifting to sit up. “Feel.” Combeferre’s fingers touch fuzzy stubble, cropped short against the skull. He splays his fingers with a smile. “I thought it was time to bring it back with everything happening…” There’s a hint of a smile back in his voice now as if the nostalgia of the cut comforts him. He leans his cheek into Combeferre’s hand.

“I’m not stupid for being worried am I? About any of this…”

“No. Your mother’s always going to be a worry. But you can’t let that hold you back from being you. And you’re not stupid for worry about our friends, it’s nice that someone cares. But you can’t blame yourself for their problems. Not again.”

Courfeyrac nods against his palm.

“You’re right. Not this time… They’re not my responsibility.”

“And none of it is your fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Kyle Andrews You Always Make Me Smile


	5. I Wonder if I Ever Cross Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire’s in the bar. Only it’s not the bar, not properly. It is in that dream world sense, where things are so off but seem exactly correct nonetheless. The space is light and empty, not packed and flashing in multi-coloured lights that makes it hard to read labels on bottles.  
> But he’s there. In a mirror of a week or a so ago, standing singularly with his halo of blond hair.  
> “Enjolras…” Grantaire breathes, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. Then, from nowhere, there are footsteps beside him. He turns to find a slim silhouette, hair piled on their head.   
> “Wait!” He calls after Jehan, but his feet seem rooted to the spot. “Don’t go! Please…”

Grantaire’s in the bar. Only it’s not the bar, not properly. It is in that dream world sense, where things are so off but seem exactly correct nonetheless. The space is light and empty, not packed and flashing in multi-coloured lights that makes it hard to read labels on bottles.

But he’s there. In a mirror of a week or a so ago, standing singularly with his halo of blond hair.

“Enjolras…” Grantaire breathes, and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. Then, from nowhere, there are footsteps beside him. He turns to find a slim silhouette, hair piled on their head.

“Wait!” He calls after Jehan, but his feet seem rooted to the spot. “Don’t go! Please…”

 

The exclamation wakes Jehan up, short and sharp. The Grantaire starts whimpering, begging. Jehan pulls the covers over his ears.

“I’ve had enough.” Grantaire says quietly, and for a moment he thinks he’s woken up, then Grantaire makes a small sound, almost a sob, into the pillow. Jehan pulls the duvet tighter, clenching his fists into the fabric to block out how desperate Grantaire sounds for _him_ , not his boyfriend. “Just let me…”

Grantaire doesn’t mention the dream the next morning, but it plays on Jehan’s mind as the day goes on like a worm entrenching itself. The edge in Grantaire’s voice, the way he tensed up, the little shakes.

“It was just a dream.” Jehan mutters, burying his face in his hands. “Nothing more than a stupid dream.”

 

~~~

 

**‘I got the place over in America.’ Enjolras tells him. Grantaire’s heart drops, just a little, but he forces a smile anyway.**

**‘That’s great! I mean it’s what you wanted all this time.’ Enjolras nods with a small non-committal noise, distracted. ‘It’ll be hard but… I can visit over the summer-‘**

**‘Grantaire.’ Enjolras cuts across him suddenly, still not meeting is eye. ‘I don’t- It’d be better for both of us if we didn’t… If we broke up.’ Grantaire stops, with a frown, this isn’t like Enjolras. Not at all.**

**‘Says who?’**

**‘I’d be in America.’**

**‘Yes? You don’t think we could manage that?’**

**‘You want me to be honest? No. I don’t.’ Grantaire blinks at him, unable to form words for a moment. But when he speaks he’s spitting venom from behind his teeth.**

**‘Well it’s good to know that’s where you are. Rather than me sitting here thinking we actually had something, that after a year we might be going somewhere.’**

**‘Grantaire…’**

**‘No don’t, I’m sure have perfectly reasonable explanations. I just don’t want to hear them right now.’ He grits his teeth against the bitter bile in his throat. ‘I guess if we’re not going to even bother I might as well leave. This can be our goodbye.’**

**‘Please don’t be like this.’**

**‘Guess what Enjolras. You made it like this.’**

 

~~~

 

“That was Jehan.” Bahorel informs him as he hangs up the phone, even though Feuilly never asked, and, to be honest, hadn’t really noticed he was on the phone at all.

“Oh?” Bahorel and Jehan’s relationship has always bemused him. He thinks they might be the only people he knows who actually became closer after they broke up. Bahorel runs a hand over the shaved side of his head.

“Grantaire’s been talking in his sleep.”

“The Enjolras dream?” Feuilly guesses, looking up from where he’s been sketching.

“The one and only.”

“He had that for years, I could have told him that.” Feuilly remembers waking up on many an occasion after a night out, because he’s a light sleeper as it is and even worse after he’s been out all night, to Grantaire mumbling into the material of the sofa. The words are usually the same, sometimes angry, sometimes begging. Usually he just sounds scared, and that’s when Feuilly wonders whether to wake him or not.

“He hasn’t had that dream since they started going out.” Bahorel informs him as he sits down on the table.

“So he jealous?”

“He’s scared. You wouldn’t want your partner talking about their ex in their sleep.”

“I guess not.” Feuilly sighs, tapping his pen against his lip. “Still, I just wish they’d tell each other how they actually feel, it’d save a lot of trouble. There’s quite a few people around right now who need that kick up the backside.” Bahorel raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Oh yeah?” Feuilly swears his eyes flicker down to where the pen presses against his lip, but his eyes are staring back into his in an instant. He places the pen down carefully.

“Joly.” He says, coolly. “That trio need to sort whatever’s going on out before he self-destructs.”

“Right, for a moment I thought you were going to say about someone’s hidden feelings for me.”

“Who might that be?” Feuilly holds his stare like a rebellious child.

“Combeferre.” Bahorel answers simply. “Guy’s been paying me an awful lot of attention recently.” Feuilly blinks at him, a little open mouthed.

“Bastard…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Lady Antebellum's Need You Now


	6. That Wasn't What We Were Good At

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So where is our fair Marius?” Bossuet asks, leaning over the back of the sofa. The party’s already partially disintegrated into people sitting around the food chatting rather than an actual ‘party’, and the guest of honour isn’t even here yet.  
> “On holiday with Cosette and her father.”  
> “How on earth did he manage that?” Bossuet frowns – Cosette’s father is renowned for being the most intimidating, protective father known to man.  
> “He’s not actually on holiday with them is he?” Combeferre asks. “What on earth has he come up with this time?”

**‘I was thinking of asking Jehan out.’ Grantaire begins casually, he tries anyway but it comes out too forced, negating any semblance of casualness. Bahorel raises an eyebrow.**

**‘And what does that have to do with me?’**

**‘Well you’re his ex… And my friend. I don’t want to mess that up.’**

**‘You’re asking my permission?’**

**‘Your blessing.’ Grantaire corrects, because permission sounds out of place somehow, too formal.**

**‘You don’t need my blessing, if you like the guy ask him. It’s not my place to stop you.’ Bahorel tells him, with a grin.**

**‘Do you think he’ll say yes?’ The question, when it comes, is careful, as if he might overstep his mark.**

**‘I think he’ll be more than happy.’ Bahorel says after a moment of contemplation. ‘But he won’t be horrible about it even if he doesn’t like you, that’s not Jehan.’ Grantaire nods with a smile.**

**‘Thanks for being okay with this.’**

**‘You two are my friends. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy.’**

 

~~~

 

“So where is our fair Marius?” Bossuet asks, leaning over the back of the sofa. The party’s already partially disintegrated into people sitting around the food chatting rather than an actual ‘party’, and the guest of honour isn’t even here yet.

“On holiday with Cosette and her father.”

“How on earth did he manage that?” Bossuet frowns – Cosette’s father is renowned for being the most intimidating, protective father known to man.

“He’s not actually on holiday with them is he?” Combeferre asks. “What on earth has he come up with this time?”

“Is this the same Cosette you slept with during Freshers?” Feuilly asks, sitting on the arm of the chair with a grin.

“That was before I knew him.” Courfeyrac points out indignantly. “And for your information it’s not a bad plan.”

“Go on…”

“He’s not going to go along, meet Cosette and then do the whole ‘holiday romance who turn out to live close to each other’ thing is he?” Joly raises an eyebrow.

“Isn’t it cute?”

“For someone who’s a-romantic you sure are Romantic Courf.”

“How’s he paying for this?” Combeferre chimes in.

“I may have lent him something…”

“You’re funding this?”

“I had to! Have you seen them together! This might be their only chance.” Courfeyrac half whines. Combeferre laughs.

“They’re sickening from what I’ve heard, so this is just your thing.”

 

“Hey.” Grantaire nudges Jehan making the other jump, stumbling slightly. He’s personally not sure why they’re at a party for the man who’s caused both of them more than their fair share of sleepless nights now, Grantaire had seemed okay with the suggestion when Courfeyrac put it to them. Grantaire nods across the room, though the party, to Bahorel. “What do you think about that?”

“Bahorel?”

“Who he’s talking to.”

“His… Roommate?” Jehan asks, frowning. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“Bahorel always says you’re his exception right?”

“I hardly think I count as an exception.” Jehan teases, pulling out his lemon yellow skirt into a semi-circle.

“But you’re still not female.” Grantaire points out with a smile and a familiar ruffle of Jehan’s hair, disturbing the hair clip there. “My point is do you think that’s actually true anymore?”

“Really? Those two? You think so?”

“Just watch them.” Grantaire smiles.

Jehan focusses his attention on the pair, leaning into Grantaire. They’re close, but no closer than usual, but after a short while he starts to notice the little things. There’s that grin Bahorel reserves for only the most exclusive of people, and the way he leans just slightly in, the way Feuilly’s eyes never leave his face, or how his hand lingers slightly as he hits Bahorel’s arm and laughs.

“Do you think they know?”

“Look at them! Of course they don’t.” Grantaire laughs.

“You are not allowed to tell them Grantaire.” Jehan tells him seriously. “I mean it. Or you could ruin a potentially perfect relationship.”

“Relax, relax. It’s way too much fun to just watch them.” Jehan snorts, resting his head on Grantaire’s shoulder. Things are nice, right here, and for a moment he wishes he could freeze it. But time doesn’t work like that, and Grantaire’s shoulders stop shaking, and they tense again and Jehan just knows he’s here.

“Hey Enjolras.” Courfeyrac’s saying in the background, and Jehan turns his head to watch the scene. Enjolras is smiling at everyone, being introduced where needed. The contrast, relaxed and happy party scene verse the tense man in his arms, is painful.

Jehan sometimes wonders, when he’s lying awake in whoever’s bed they’ve chosen, why he can’t let this go. Why he can’t just accept Grantaire has an ex who he had a hard time with. It’s not like he’s not in contact with his ex, far from it, but somehow this is something he can’t stop thinking about.

Then situations like this happen, when Grantaire literally freezes like a deer in headlights, all but puppy eyed over Enjolras. And as hard as Jehan tries to convince himself he just can’t see it as anything but left over feelings. And he’s scared, because he can’t imagine living without Grantaire now, when he hadn’t expected to ever feel like that. He doesn’t want to wake up alone anymore, or go without talking about his day. All the mundane things that now mean so much.

And he wonders, for a moment, why he can’t trust Grantaire to still be 100% with him, why he can’t write these reactions off as normal for an awkward ex.

Somewhere he’s too scared to contemplate the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the Lumineers Slow it Down


	7. You Tell Me that You've Got Everything You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly regrets Saturday’s welcome home party. He doesn’t regret the time spent there, but he does regret ever thinking Sunday would be enough to recover. Today, of all days, he actually needs to have some shred of patience left that comes from a good night’s sleep.  
> Instead he’ll have to substitute with a walk in the park on a lunch break that wasn’t designed for leaving the building. Eating a sandwich while on a route march is hard enough as it is, without the added breeze blowing strands of his slightly too long hair into his face.   
> He reaches the shelter of a canopied pathway, breathing a sigh of relief, when he spots the mousey haired figure of Jehan on a bench. He’s in his work clothes, a scarf added atop a velvet blazer and shirt. Jehan glances up at his approach, crunching over gravel.

Feuilly regrets Saturday’s welcome home party. He doesn’t regret the time spent there, but he does regret ever thinking Sunday would be enough to recover. Today, of all days, he actually needs to have some shred of patience left that comes from a good night’s sleep.  
Instead he’ll have to substitute with a walk in the park on a lunch break that wasn’t designed for leaving the building. Eating a sandwich while on a route march is hard enough as it is, without the added breeze blowing strands of his slightly too long hair into his face.  
He reaches the shelter of a canopied pathway, breathing a sigh of relief, when he spots the mousey haired figure of Jehan on a bench. He’s in his work clothes, a scarf added atop a velvet blazer and shirt. Jehan glances up at his approach, crunching over gravel.  
“Oh, hi…”  
“Hey.” Feuilly takes the opportunity to sit down. “Need some air too?”  
“Something like that.” Jehan watches the pathway. “Grantaire’s having lunch with Enjolras. Again apparently…”  
“Oh.” Feuilly nods, searching for something to say.  
“Do you think I’m being stupid?” Jehan asks quietly. “Or jealous or paranoid?”  
Feuilly mulls it over for a moment, watching the trees swirl and bend above their heads as the wind tries to tug the leaves from their branches.  
“No.” He says eventually. “I don’t.”  
“So you think Grantaire is still interested in him.”  
“I think he wants to be with you.” Feuilly tells him. Jehan glances around to him.  
“Then how am I not being paranoid?”  
“Because of the nature of the end of the relationship. With you and Bahorel it was mutual, you both knew it was over and why. With them, from what I’ve heard, Grantaire was left in the lurch with no real closure. And from what Courfeyrac says if Enjolras hadn’t left they might never have broken up. So they’re both stuck with this massive ‘what if’, always wondering what would have happened if they’d tried harder or whatever.”

~~~

Joly’s not quite sure how he’s ended up holding this kitten.  
To be honest he’s not sure if it’s a kitten or just a really small cat.  
“His name is Mischief.” L’Aigle told him, passing across the bundle of wiry black and white fur. The cat gives him an indignant expression at being plonked in his hands, looking between him and L’Aigle with a questioning meow. “I’ve got his sister but I can’t keep both of them. Could you? Please?”  
“I don’t have anything for a cat…”  
“He’s house trained. Come on I couldn’t leave them. Look how cute he is.”  
“I was… I was about to tell Chetta…”  
“Oh!” Realisation dawns. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll head off… I need to get back for Lucky anyway.”  
“Lucky-“  
“L’Aigle, hi!” Musichetta pokes her head around the corner of the lounge. “What are you doing here?”  
“Asking a favour, could you keep Mischief for me?” Joly holds out that cat who immediately starts complaining to Musichetta about his treatment.  
“Of course we will.” She coos. “I used to have cats at home, I’ve missed it so much… Why don’t you come in and get him settled?”  
“Sure.” L’Aigle shrugs apologetically, following her into the lounge. Joly gives a small sigh. 

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t have come if I’d known…” L’Aigle murmurs to him as Musichetta sets up a suitable cushion in the bedroom as a makeshift cat bed.  
“You weren’t to know… She seems happy about the cat though. Maybe that’ll help.”  
“She’ll be alright.” L’Aigle smiles, patting him on the arm. “How’s Mischief?”  
“Unsure about the bed, but he’s exploring.” Musichetta sits down on the sofa next to Joly. “He’s very sweet.”  
“His sister is too, they both have such an attitude. She’s a little black ball of energy.” He smiles fondly. “Might I use your bathroom a minute?”  
“Of course.” L’Aigle gives her a nod, then a look to Joly. “It looks like we have a cat now.” Musichetta remarks.  
“Looks like it. Um… Can I say something a minute?”  
“What is it?”  
“I really love you Chetta, so much. More than I ever expected to be able to love someone. But, well you see there’s a thing. It’s not about you. I promise. And I still want to be with you I just-“  
“Spit it out Joly.” She frowns at him.  
“I have feelings. For L’Aigle.”  
“For…”  
“I didn’t expect to, and I’m not pursuing them I swear. I just can’t deny them either so I thought I should tell you.”  
“Why? Are you going to pursue them?”  
“Not without your consent.”  
“Does he know?”  
“Chetta-“  
“What am I saying? Of course he knows he just conveniently left us!”  
“I didn’t tell him.” Musichetta pushes herself up, running her hand through her wavy hair.  
“I need to think about this.”  
“Of course.” He sits back into the cushions tensely.  
“Alone.” Her hand comes to cover her mouth. “I’m just going to-“ She doesn’t finish, instead turning to hurry out of the door.

~~~

Feuilly’s arrival is announced by a long groan and the sound of the sofa’s creaking springs.  
“You made it.” Bahorel grins from around the door. Feuilly rolls onto his front with an indistinguishable sound. “How was work?”  
“I saw Jehan at lunch.”  
“Oh yeah?” Bahorel makes his move into the living room, leaving the food, and makes sure to stand in the line of Feuilly’s sight, a smug grin on his face that he gets when he’s had a good day – usually he’s been in the ring.  
“Mhmm. Lots of reassuring and talking. He’s still really worried. But I think it’s more about him now, that he’s being irrational or something.”  
“And…”  
“I told him it was perfectly normal to feel that way.”  
“You’ve done your good deed for the day then. Why so glum?”  
“Because of people.” Feuilly forces himself up onto his elbows. “Because people can’t make up their minds but still expect you to read them from across the country. And when you start work they change their minds again and all that’s due on Wednesday.” He sighs in exasperation, then lowers his voice to a grumble. “And my boss is no help.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because the customer is always right. And because he’s not a designer nor does he understand physics.”  
“I’ve go extra spicy chilli on the go.”  
“You’re a life saver.” Feuilly buries his head back in his arms, Bahorel crouches in front of him.  
“Come on, chin up.”  
“Shut up and leave me to sleep until you have food.”  
“Make me.” Bahorel smirks. Feuilly glances up.  
“Are you looking to be punched?”  
“I’m just a strong believer in people not moping.”  
“I do that every other day, now leave me to sulk.”  
“Never.” Feuilly raises his eyes in a glare, Bahorel continues to smirk back.  
“Go away.”  
“Why would I do that?” Feuilly pushes himself up, still glaring, then moves to cup his cheek and kiss him roughly. Bahorel’s hands come up to Feuilly’s hair. “This isn’t making me go away…”  
“Do you have a problem?” Feuilly asks, because this has been going on for ages and he’s quite frankly sick of the whole affair of small smirks and barely concealed innuendo that you still can’t quite figure out if it’s sarcastic or not.  
“None at all.”  
“Then get on this goddamn sofa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from The Beatles, And Your Bird can Sing


	8. If We Can Make it Through the Storm and Become Who We were Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey.” Enjolras smiles as he approaches. There’s a familiarity to this, one that Grantaire’s not entirely sure he’s comfortable with. Enjolras texts, then they meet at lunch time in the café around the corner.   
> Part of him feels like it’s sneaking around. But nothing’s going to happen. He guesses maybe it’s curiosity, maybe the need for an explanation or just the nostalgia of the situation.

“Hey.” Enjolras smiles as he approaches. There’s a familiarity to this, one that Grantaire’s not entirely sure he’s comfortable with. Enjolras texts, then they meet at lunch time in the café around the corner.  
Part of him feels like it’s sneaking around. But nothing’s going to happen. He guesses maybe it’s curiosity, maybe the need for an explanation or just the nostalgia of the situation.  
“How was your morning?”  
“Good. It was good. Completely dull, but not so mind numbing as it can be.” Enjolras looks amused. “What about the job search?”  
“There’s a few open. But I want to…”  
“What?” Grantaire asks after a moment.”  
“Start a group up. A political one. To get likeminded people together and look into actually getting things done.”  
“You do?”  
“I always said I would.” Enjolras points out.  
“Yeah but that was when we were teenagers.”  
“I think I can get things done this way. So I can listen to people and get their voices heard.”  
“You, the kid who could afford to study abroad?” Grantaire asks, a hint of bitterness in his tone.  
“Yes.”  
“You do realise most people don’t like politicians because they’re rich school boys with no concept of real world problems right.”  
“That’s why I need you.” Enjolras tells him, placing down his cup. “You’re my voice of reason, a cynical one but a realist nonetheless. We make a great team.” Grantaire frowns.  
“What…” Enjolras’s hand is gently placed over his.  
“Be with me, again.”  
“I-What?” Grantaire flinches back, coffee spilling over the edge of his mug and onto the floor.  
“We worked so well. I know you’re with Jehan but-“  
“There’s not a but Enjolras! That’s final.”  
“Grantaire-“ His cup is slammed down, and this time the coffee hits his hand but he’s too panicked to react.  
“No. We’ve been over for over four years! You can’t say things like that!” His chair squeaks back noisily, Enjolras’s hand falling between the pair of them. “I have to go.” He says firmly, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice.  
“Wait…”  
“Some of us have jobs.” 

~~

The steady hiss of the shower, and the rising steam doing something to relieve his desk tense muscles. His spine is full of kinks, his shoulders knotted, he flexes his fingers around his wrist. The door opens and shuts beyond the warm cocoon he’s made for himself.  
The warmth is momentarily broken as the curtain swishes back, then he’s enveloped in strong arms.  
“Hey…” Feuilly leans his head back, water dripping over his cheeks from his hair.  
“You’re a bit tense.” Bahorel murmurs in his ear.  
‘You try working at a drafting table for hours on end.’ Feuilly wants to retort. Instead he sighs quietly.  
“Are we actually doing this?”  
“Did you not want to sneak into your shower and offer massages?”  
“No.” Feuilly turns in his arms so he can actually look in his eyes. “I mean this, us. What are we doing here?”  
“What do you want to do?” Bahorel asks, and Feuilly finds himself stumped. Bahorel picks up the bottle of shampoo off the side, it might have been a Christmas present because it smells like something Jehan would buy, and begins gently massaging it through his hair. “The way I see it is we’re roommates. And you’re my best friend, I don’t want to get things all awkward.”  
“You should have thought about that before you hopped in my shower.” Feuilly wipes a trail of bubbles away from his raised eyebrow.  
“There was a but.” Bahorel tells him, gesturing to move under the water. “I like you, I think we’re great together. You can’t deny that. And, to be honest, I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”  
Feuilly nodded, pushing his fingers back through his hair.  
“I can live with that.” Bahorel snorts. “So this is… A thing now?”  
“You want me to put it in writing?”  
“No, then it’d be legally binding.” Feuilly teases as Bahorel looks offended.  
“You don’t want it to be?”  
“I think I can live with dating for now.” Feuilly smiles, leaning up to give him a kiss. 

~~

Grantaire’s pacing. His footsteps fill his creaky apartment as Jehan makes dinner.  
“Grantaire…” Jehan begins as he passes the doorway again.  
“I need a drink.” Comes the reply, Grantaire leaning heavily in the doorway. Jehan takes a deep breath, in and out.  
“No. You don’t.”  
“I do.” Jehan turns to face him, watching his tired expression carefully.  
“You don’t. That’s what you’ve got me for! Talk to me.”  
“About what Jehan? About how I can’t sleep? About how I’ve got this nervous knot in my stomach and skull and how utterly ridiculous that is?”  
“It’s not-“  
“I’m not starting this.” He turns away slightly.  
“I’m your boyfriend! It’s what I’m here for!” At Jehan’s raised voice Grantaire looks back again.  
“No. Because then you’ll feel responsible. And I’m not becoming that reliant on someone again.”  
Jehan gapes at him, open mouthed. The water begins boiling over.  
“You don’t trust me.” Grantaire shakes his head, pushing a hand through his curls.  
“I didn’t say that.”  
“You may as well’ve done.” Jehan snaps back.  
“Don’t do this.” Grantaire murmurs. Jehan turns back to the pans without reply, pressing his lips into a thin, white line. “You’ve got to understand what this is like for me, I do trust you Jehan. More than anyone. But that doesn’t mean we have to always rely on each other. Especially after Enjolras… I can’t do that again…”  
“You weren’t distancing yourself before.” Jehan says to the stove top.  
“I was- Am comfortable. I’m just a bit spooked.” Grantaire gently wraps his arms around Jehan’s waist. Jehan gives a small sigh, leaning his head back onto Grantaire’s shoulder.  
“When did we end up like this?”  
“It was a time bomb.” Grantaire tells him. “It always was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Lifehouse's Aftermath


	9. Say Something I'm Giving up on You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey…” Musichetta murmurs as she comes back from work later that evening, settling next to him on the sofa.  
> “Hi.”  
> “Listen Joly, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. Not after you revealed something so… Important to me.”  
> “It’s alright.” Joly mumbles, scratching the head of the cat in his lap. “I would have done the same.”   
> “Still. I should have listened. But I talked to Éponine.”
> 
> ~~~
> 
> “What’s wrong?” Jehan asks, looking up from his notebook. Grantaire’s a coiled spring next to him, wound tightly.   
> “Nothing.”  
> “You’re really stressed. It’s coming off you in waves.”  
> “Could you just… Leave it?”

**‘It’s freezing out today.’ Jehan comments, blowing warm air against his hands in an attempt to warm them.**

**‘Do you- I mean we can go inside-‘ Grantaire stutters over his words, silently cursing to himself at the nervousness he’s betraying. Jehan glances up through his hair.**

**'It’s alright, the park’s beautiful in the frost.’ He pauses a moment, then holds out his hand with a smile. ‘Warm them up for me?’ Grantaire chuckles, taking Jehan’s hands in his own gloved ones and working on get them some way to warm. ‘Did you just fancy a walk?’ Jehan asks after a few moments.**

**Grantaire pauses, still holding Jehan’s hands.**

**‘Not exactly…’**

**‘Then I’ll let you get to what you want to say in your own time.’ There’s a hint of amusement on Jehan’s face, sparking in his grey eyes. Grantaire stares a little.**

**‘I just… I wanted to know if you might, well, want to go out with me?’ He blurts out, then cringes at it. ‘That was meant to be so much more eloquent than that. I mean I didn’t exactly prepare lots of stuff but I did have something and-‘ Jehan raises a finger to his lips with a smile.**

**‘You’re rambling.’ Grantaire opens his mouth. ‘No it’s cute. You’re… Cute. To be honest I’ve been waiting for you to do this for a while, I would’ve asked myself but I didn’t want to steal your thunder…’**

**‘Is that a yes..?’ Grantaire frowns.**

**‘Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve been trying to flirt a little while now.’ Grantaire looks down with a small laugh.**

**‘I know far too many people who are just like that to actually notice flirting now.’**

**Jehan squeezes his hand.**

**‘We’ll just have to get you reacquainted.’**

 

~~~

 

“Hey…” Musichetta murmurs as she comes back from work later that evening, settling next to him on the sofa.

“Hi.”

“Listen Joly, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stormed off like that. Not after you revealed something so… Important to me.”

“It’s alright.” Joly mumbles, scratching the head of the cat in his lap. “I would have done the same.”

“Still. I should have listened. But I talked to Éponine.”

“I didn’t know you were friends.”

“Please, Grantaire introduced us long before we were a couple. But anyway, I had a chat over lunch and she told me to stop being hot headed and actually listen to you.” She tells him carefully. “Apparently she has a friend who, well he’s polyamorous, and they went out and he was still really committed even if he was- Basically what I’m trying to say is I might not always be okay with it, but I’m your girlfriend and I want to try, and I really want to support you.” She finishes.

Joly smiles.

“I’d have never pursued anything you weren’t comfortable with Chetta. Because I really love you, I just feel like can love someone else the same.”

“Maybe…” Musichetta begins cautiously. “If you’re going with L’Aigle as well then… I could experiment a bit too?”

“If you want to. Just as long as we both tell each other what’s happening.” Musichetta nods, reaching across to scratch Mischief’s ears.

“So… L’Aigle hey? I never thought you’d go for a guy like him.”

“No?”

“To be fair I never knew you were interested in guys so…” She laughs softly. “When did you realise.” The air between them has started to clear, it’s a bit more relaxed even if the question seems like forced curiosity.

“I don’t know.” Joly muses. “I just kind of had these butterflies one day. Like I did when I fell for you.”

“No wonder he found out.” Her red lips turn up in an amused smile.

“What?” Joly asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re so obvious Joly.” She laughs. “I knew right away when you had a crush on me. You started to go all pink and stutter-y every time you saw me, even if it was just across the street.”

“I’m not that obvious.”

“Joly.” She cups his cheek gently. “The only one more obvious than you is Marius. And that’s because he actually talks about his feelings.” Leaving him pouting at her she returns to the cat, cooing as she picks him up.

“Chetta,” Joly says after a moment. “You fancy going on a date? With the three of us.”

Musichetta glances up, and the cat reaches out to bat her nose. Then she smiles, and it shows her teeth.

“I’d like that.”

 

~~~

 

“What’s wrong?” Jehan asks, looking up from his notebook. Grantaire’s a coiled spring next to him, wound tightly.

“Nothing.”

“You’re really stressed. It’s coming off you in waves.”

“Could you just… Leave it?” Grantaire tells him flatly, shoulders hunching more.

“That seems to be all I’m doing recently.” Jehan replies, voice quiet.

“Well I don’t always feel like talking.” Grantaire mutters, pushing himself up.

“I was only asking, I’m worried about you.” Jehan places the book down, getting up himself. “You just don’t seem like yourself suddenly.”

“Well there are quite a few things going on.” The tension gets worse, spreading into his finger that curl into fists.

“Then talk to me about them!” Jehan can’t help but snap the words, and it takes him by surprise how angry he sounds, everything boiling over.

“Not now.”

“You never want to talk to me.”

“It’s not like you ever talk about your feelings!” Grantaire shouts in return, and Jehan takes a step back in surprise.

“I do!”

“Not to me! You write all this crap down but I never hear a word. It’s all just guess work!”

“Say the guy still pining over his ex!” Jehan snaps.

“I am _not_ pining.”

“You’ve not been meeting him then?”

“It wasn’t-“

“You have?” Jehan covers his mouth with one hand, turning away. “I knew it.”

“It was just for closure…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me about it?”

“I knew you’d react like this!” Grantaire sounds exasperated, and Jehan whirls round to face him.

“I wonder why?”

“Oh don’t sound like that.” An eyebrow is raised.

“Like what? Like I’m annoyed because I’ve just found out my boyfriend’s been lying to me and meeting his ex behind my back.”

“You’re just being paranoid.” Grantaire’s voice quaver’s as he shakes his head.

“Am I?” Jehan asks. Grantaire doesn’t reply, looking down to his feet. Jehan exhales shakily, watching him as he shifts and the silence grows.

He’s supposed to say yes. Yes, so they can yell until they grow tired and hoarse and then, when their anger is spent, they can talk things though and get through this stupid mess.

Instead an uneasy silence spreads between them like mist, clawing them down. It’s never been like this, unbearable to be in each other’s company because of what can’t be said.

“Say something.” Jehan says quietly, teeth worrying his lip as he waits. Grantaire’s mouth opens, his lips shake, and then he looks away. “I don’t care what you say, just say anything Grantaire. Please!”

“I don’t know what to say…” It’s a whisper that barely fills the space between them. Jehan exhales shakily, running a hand into his hair.

“Say you don’t love me.”

“I can’t…”

“Just say it…” He needs to hear it, from Grantaire’s lips. Needs to know, because nothing can hurt him more than this. Grantaire looks up at him.

“I love you.” Something breaks inside him, and he’s surprised there’s not an audible crack with the way his heart shatters and coats his rib cage with jagged fragments, cutting into his insides. He doesn’t move for a while, doesn’t break the eye contact because it might be the only things keeping him standing. He lets his shoulders drop.

“Then leave…”

“Jehan-“

“If you really love me then don’t make this harder than it is. Because this isn’t working… It’s not working.”

“Of course it’s working.”

“No. Not like this it isn’t.” Jehan shakes his head. “So can you? Please...?” Grantaire stares at him, Jehan’s not quite sure for how long, but he turns away when he can’t take it anymore. There’s a small intake of breath as it Grantaire might say something, but the only sound that follows is the slamming of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from A Great Big World's Say Something


	10. I Hope You Feel Better, Now that it's Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did you invite him?” Jehan snaps as Courfeyrac opens the door, there’s a pause, a frown, before he shoves at Courfeyrac’s chest. “Why did you invite him?”  
> “He’s my friend he-“  
> “Everything was fine before he came along. It was so perfect and now I don’t even know what’s happening.”

“Why did you invite him?” Jehan snaps as Courfeyrac opens the door, there’s a pause, a frown, before he shoves at Courfeyrac’s chest. “Why did you invite him?”  
“He’s my friend he-“  
“Everything was fine before he came along. It was so perfect and now I don’t even know what’s happening.” Jehan collapses on the sofa, all his anger gone. Courfeyrac sits next to him, carefully, as if he might prompt a new wave, the frown he wears seemingly etched onto his face.  
“Jehan, I don’t know what’s going on…”  
“Grantaire and I broke up.” Jehan says quietly.  
“You what?”  
“We broke up, and now I don’t know what to do…”

“Why did you come back?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras frowns at him, as he probably should.  
“I finished my course, and Courfeyrac invited me. I-“  
“No but why? Why did you have to come back? I was doing fine until you showed up. I was happy-“  
“Don’t be angry at me Grantaire.” Grantaire turns to stare at him.  
“Who else is there to be angry at? You came along with all this ‘we’re great together bullshit’, you’re the one who texted even when I thought I’d made it clear nothing was happening.”  
“You always were angry with me…” Grantaire blinks at last.  
“No. No Enjolras you were always angry with me. At my lack of beliefs, my ideas, my self-esteem. And I just trailed after you like a puppy! And then you went on your course and I was happy for you but you didn’t even want to give us a chance. I would have done anything for you but I meant nothing.” He spits the last word, surprising even himself with what he’s said. At all the things he’s kept bottled up, and how full of venom they have become with all the time spent festering, being mulled over and over. “I was nothing.” 

“You… You broke up?” Courfeyrac murmurs, shocked.  
“We had this fight… And I told him to…” Jehan exhales. “Say he didn’t love me.”  
“Grantaire adores you.”  
“But it doesn’t work!” Jehan’s voice cracks into tears. “We were doing so well, but now it’s just not healthy to force it.”  
“You weren’t though…”  
“I wasn’t forcing myself to be in love Courf. But we were both forcing each other to be something we weren’t.”  
“What?” Courfeyrac asks carefully, gently as he reaches across to take Jehan’s hand.  
“Happy.”

Grantaire collapses down on the sofa.  
“I was absolutely nothing… I loved you…”  
“You think I didn’t love you? I was crazy about you Grantaire! But I couldn’t handle that kind of distance.” Grantaire snorts. “Oh don’t.”  
“Why not?” Grantaire asks sharply. “You couldn’t handle the distance? So you just left me with nothing? That’s just so you! Not ever thinking about how these things look to other people, how they might affect other people. What did you think I was going to do? Fall back in your arms when you came back? After that? You thought I’d wait?!”  
“I don’t know what I thought! I just couldn’t cope with the idea of not seeing you every day! Of drifting apart and things just… Not being the same.” Enjolras exhales looking down sadly.  
“Well. Now they’re not.” Grantaire says coolly. “Everything’s ruined.”  
“It doesn’t have to be.” Enjolras murmurs, sitting next to him.

“Come here.” Courfeyrac murmurs, pulling Jehan against his chest. Jehan sniffs.  
“I don’t want it to be over… But I can’t see how to make it work anymore.” Courfeyrac doesn’t have a reply, so he presses a kiss of Jehan’s temple to try and show his sympathy. Jehan glances up after a moment, studying his face with a curious expression.  
“What..?” Courfeyrac asks cautiously. Maybe Jehan doesn’t have an answer either because in a second his lips are on Courfeyrac’s in a small, chaste kiss. “Jehan…”  
“No you wanted to do this right?” Jehan murmurs. “When we first met. It doesn’t have to mean anything I just… I want some comfort.”  
“Grantaire’s one of my best friends.”  
“And I’m not with him anymore.” Jehan says softly. 

“Excuse me?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow.  
“It doesn’t have to be.” Enjolras tells him, leaning in to kiss him as he does so. The kiss is gentle, but hungry in the way Enjolras cups his face. Suddenly he’s 17 again and they’re sitting on Enjolras’s bed and joking about how this has been far too long coming. And he can relax, be absorbed back into the scene where he’s still happy and he’s just started dating the guy he’s been crazy for since they met and he drew him for the first time.  
Enjolras pushes his coat off and Grantaire goes along, pulling him closer again.  
The idea that this might be a terrible idea only briefly crosses his mind, but it’s drowned by memories – of all those times spent together, waking up in each other’s beds, of meal times and walks, of fights, of break ups, of that terrible wrenching pain that he’s lost the only thing that matters to him.  
Suddenly he’s not sure who he’s thinking about.

When Jehan wakes up the next morning he feels warm and safe. It’s the first goodnight’s sleep he’s had in weeks.  
Courfeyrac’s arm is still heavy on top of him, and he slips out of the bed as slowly as possible so as not to wake the sleeping man.  
There’s a flicker of guilt for a moment. Like he’s betrayed Grantaire by being here.  
But there’s nothing to betray. Not now.  
Jehan sinks back down onto the bed and buries his face in his hands.

Grantaire’s already dressed by the time Enjolras wakes up. It’s not a surprising turn of events, but it’s one he’s grateful for. He’s been sitting on the sofa for about half an hour, chin on hand, thinking everything over.  
Maybe your ex’s apartment isn’t the best place to do that, especially after the previous night’s events, but it seems to be working pretty well for him.  
Enjolras stumbles to the doorway, leaning heavily there.  
“You’re still here…”  
“I’m not one to just leave.”  
Enjolras nods thoughtfully, looking down for a second before Grantaire begins talking again.  
“I’ve got something to say.”  
There’s a small spark of hope in Enjolras’s eyes, after last night Grantaire can understand but he needs to say what he’s been thinking over.  
“No.” He tells him, flatly.  
“Excuse me?” Enjolras looks genuinely confused, brow furrowing.  
“No. We’re not getting back together.” His voice is stronger than he expected. Enjolras goes to step forward. “You left me Enjolras. You left, and now I’m going to leave you.” Enjolras stops dead.  
“You’re what?”  
“We’re not getting back together, not ever. Before you showed up I was the happiest I’ve been in years. I hate it when you’re right, you have no idea how much but… We should have broken up. You’ve made me realise that. And even if things don’t happen with Jehan… Not even then Enjolras. This is it for us. As anything. Maybe we can be friends, but not yet. Not until you understand that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Leave from Once


	11. Just Call Me Angel of the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue

Jehan blinks awake slowly in his – their – bed.  
Grantaire’s curled into his side, his lips against Jehan’s shoulder, and he snores softly. The sunlight is soft through the curtains – his, because Grantaire’s were far too moth eaten – and it silhouette’s the sleeping man. Jehan smiles, resting his cheek on Grantaire’s hair.  
It’s been a couple of weeks since they moved in together and, to be honest, he’s still getting used to it. Which seems ridiculous considering there were rarely nights apart before they began renting this place together. Still, it’s a process, but one he enjoys.  
He places a small kiss on Grantaire’s forehead, but he doesn’t stir.  
He does blink awake, grumpily clinging on for dear life in that way he does, when the alarm starts going off and Jehan has to desperately scramble to shut it off.  
“Mmmph…”  
“Sorry.” He murmurs.  
“Morning.” Grantaire mumbles against his skin. “Please tell me you don’t have work.”  
“Guilty as charged.”  
“Mmm…” He grumbles, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Bunk off.”  
“I keep telling you, some of us enjoy our jobs. Besides, I’ll be back later and you can cook me dinner.”  
“Enjolras’s first meeting is tonight.” Jehan pauses a moment, considering it.  
“Are we going?” Things with Enjolras are getting better, since Grantaire turned up on his doorstep, dishevelled and watery eyed, and asked if he wanted to give it another go. He’s an acquired taste, but Jehan admits he’s interesting to talk to.  
“It’ll be right up your street.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Juice Newton's Angel of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This has been so much fun to do and I'm so glad to finally post this. And to get back on track with my other works!
> 
> Also, please check out the companion art by the wonderful DoodleAero over here: http://doodleaero.tumblr.com/post/100754842901/my-art-for-just-give-me-a-reason-as-soon-as-i  
> I still can't get over how well she got the characters!


End file.
